


Dress

by Michelleleahhh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingering, Oral Sex, Porn, Pure Smut, Reader Insert, Rooftop Sex, Vaginal Sex, what plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 10:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelleleahhh/pseuds/Michelleleahhh
Summary: You only bought this dress so Loki would take it off.





	Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a Tumblr One-Shot that I'm posting here :) 
> 
> Needed to take a break from Broken Crown and this happened.  
> Thanks T Swiz for a great concert and super sexy song.

“That’s a stunning dress, pet.”

Loki’s voice sends chills up your spine. Even the humid summer air couldn’t dissuade the goosebumps from spreading along your arms over your shoulders and down your back. You look down the front of your dress, the gold metallic material dances in the New York City lights.

Your hands grip the railing harder, fighting the urge to turn around and do something you regret.

Like slap him.

Or kiss him.

Still, a small smile pulls at your lips as you hear him walk closer. And when his hands land on the railing next to yours, when his arms cage you in, you realize that your simmering anger is just simmering on the surface. What you really want to do is lean back against him and feel his body pressed against yours.  

“Although, if you really wanted to get my attention, all you had to do was ask.” He says, as you keep your chin down, inspecting the view from balcony. Stark Tower really made the rest of the city seem small.

He chuckles when you remain silent, and fury rises within you at the sound of it against your ear. His scent, musky pine, invades your senses. Corrupts you. Makes you almost forgive him, but you can’t do that. You refuse to be the first to budge.

You are amazed that he even came outside to see you.

It was probably just to revel in his handiwork. Revel at how miserable he made you.

“Come, love. Talk to me.” His lips, his breath hotly passes over your ear.

You open your mouth, ready to snap, but, instead, you audibly sigh, “Please stop.”

Your eyes dart to his hands next to yours. His pale long fingers tighten around the railing at your words. The wine that you chugged earlier shot strait to your head and the effects are clouding your judgement, because all you wanted to do was lift your hands and press them against his. To pull his lean digits from the railing and put them on you. You can feel the cold radiating from his skin, even though his black silk suit isn’t touching you. But you can’t do that. This was Loki, not some guy. The thing is you actually want it to mean something with him, you want him to want to touch you.

“It was a poor jest, pet. I meant nothing by it and none of the others were the wiser.”

“I’m not your pet,” you bite out, lifting your chin as a frown pulls at your lips.

“You are not,” he agrees with a sigh. “You are more than that.”

You roll your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

“Do I need to explicitly say it?”

You tap the railing, your mind an endless tide rising and receding, trying to appropriately weigh your options. Finally, you pivot in his arms and glance to his face. You lean your back against the railing to create some distance between your chests, even though one deep exhale would make them graze. You lift an eyebrow and give him your best Tony impression – cocky, headstrong, intelligent.

He licks his lips and a dark, wide grin grazes his face, though he doesn’t say anything. And while his smile mocks you, his eyes are blue pools of delicate vulnerability, waiting for you to make the first move. You know he wants you to make the first move.

The breeze rustles his raven hair. How you want to reach out, touch its ends, run your fingers through it. But you don’t, you remain as still as a statue, watching him.

Loki sighs deeply before finally conceding, “I’m afraid I’m at a loss of words.”

“That’s funny,” you deadpan, and look to the stars, though none are actually there. Thanks, New York City light pollution. “The one time you could actually say something that is worthwhile, your silver tongue fails you.” You wince as you say the words, realizing how callous you sound.

Your heart flutters in your chest when his hands drop from the railing and pins you with a dark glare. “What would you like me to say then?”

“The truth would be nice,” you snap.

“The truth?” He asks, “The truth is sickening. The truth is that I think of my friend in ways that I should not.” Your stomach ties in knots, your mind has drawn a blank and you are enraptured by his confession. You watch his lips scowl, his hands clench in fists as if he’s trying to fight the words as they spill from his nimble lips. “I lay in bed at night imagining your lips against mine, counting the ways I would worship you with my lips and hands. It takes every restraint I have to not act on these… incessant urges.”

There’s a tense second before you probe, “I’m your friend?”

His sharp gaze searches your own as his eyebrows knit in confusion. “That’s what you heard?”

No. You heard it all. The ways he plans to worship you. His lips, his hands glossing over your curves, your skin. If only he knew the ways you imagined he’d kiss you.

You lift your palm, shaking from patience and anticipation. His eyes widen as your hand reaches to his face and carefully cups his chin. He releases a sigh upon contact. Loki’s cool skin against your hand is a stark realization to what you already know: he isn’t like you, he isn’t like his brother, he isn’t like any of the others. Both of your stares are locked in a battle, communicating to the other what your stolen, silent moments have meant all this time. You push off the railing and tip-toe to reach him better, aided by the height of your pumps.

“Well?” He asks with a false, mocking bravado that is betrayed by the apprehensiveness in his eyes.

You press your palm against him harder, using it to anchor yourself, before whispering, “I don’t want you like a friend.”

His eyes widen when you lean closer and softly press your lips together. His lips are soft and still beneath yours, so you press yourself fully against him, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other winding itself in his hair. As you dig your nails into his scalp, a deep groan escapes his lips. You pull back, and open your eyes to look at him, only to find his intense gaze staring back at you.

“I-“ You start. Suddenly, his hands entangle themselves in your hair and crush your lips together in a bruising kiss, swallowing the rest of your sentence. His cool tongue traces the seam of your lips, surging softly in a rhythmic motion.

A rush of excitement flows through your veins, as his lips softly manipulate yours in a demanding prayer. It was everything you ever dreamed it’d be. Hungry and hard and impatient. You open your lips, needing him, wanting him deeper.

His left hand drops to your shoulder and his fingers nimbly play with your zipper. Loki slowly, meticulously, pulls it down just far enough for his hand to reach inside and caress your back. His cold touch sends shivers down your skin as his teeth bite your lip.

A sudden need to breathe makes you pull away. Repeating the mantra to yourself: calm down. You’re in public, on a balcony, twenty feet from a gala event. But as soon as the words flitter through your mind, Loki’s lips trail down your throat, nibbling on the skin. A wetness grows between your thighs. You lean against the railing, even though Loki’s fingers have trailed lower down, pulling the zipper of your dress with them.

You take a ragged breath in, as his mouth trails back up your throat and to your ear. Loki bites down on your lobe, and his breath wafts over your skin. His hands dip lower down your dress, and caress your bottom, pulling your hips flush against his. You gasp suddenly at the intimate contact, and he darkly chuckles into your ear. His leg digs between yours, deliciously applying pressure to where you crave it most. His mouth moves back to your pulse point, kissing and marking your skin. Your hands still entangled in his hair pull drop to his shoulders then trail down the front of his chest and down the hard planes of his stomach. Your fingers pull on his shirt untucking it from his pants. You pull his belt, hastily unbuckling it, damning all consequences.

Until a loud yelling comes from the party. Your eyes snap to the glass doors, realizing where you are and what you are doing. Your hands still as Loki pulls away, his hand retracts from your dress and grip your chin, making you look at him.

“Loki…” You whisper, panting against his lips as you both take a second to look into each other’s eyes. Your heart flutters. His eyelashes are so long, his eyes dark. You don’t want to stop. You won’t. You shake your head and push him back, pushing him until you’re both shrouded in the shadow at the corner of the balcony. Then, unceremoniously and unprompted, you fall to your knees.

You silently pray. Pray that everyone inside is entertained. That no one else needs fresh air, or a moment to themselves.

Your mouth salivates at all the possibilities of what you could do. But first… First, you want to hear him swear. Hear him pant. You want to be the reason he does those things.

So, you deftly undo his pants and pull them down just far enough to release his hard member.  

You look up to him for one second, before looking down and taking him into your hand. Heavy, solid. Loki inhales deeply from above you as you lean forward and slowly kiss the tip. The velvety skin is smooth, and unblemished, hot against your lips. So, you do the only thing you think of and lick him from base to tip, savoring his taste. Finally, you take him into your mouth, leisurely. You hear him groan from above you, and when you glance at him, you see that his head is thrown back. You create a torturous rhythm, focusing on your breath, unbelieving that this is actually happening.

His hands rest against your head, stroking your hair. Then suddenly his fingers tangle into your tresses, and roughly pull your head back. When your eyes meet, you realize his have become black with desperation.

“Open,” he commands, and you obey. Your hand rests against your thighs as you open your mouth. He takes himself in his hand and slowly pushes between your lips. You wrap your lips around him as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. “Relax,” he coos, your eyes still locked together. Then he retreats only to push himself forward again, deeper. You concentrate on your breath, keeping your jaw loose and using your tongue. He buries himself to the hilt. “That’s good. A good pet.” He chuckles darkly as you’re sure your expression changes to irritation. He continues to fuck your lips, a slow, torturous cadence that promises of what is to come. You groan, anticipating, wanting. Your sex throbbing as you imagine him inside you. Imagine him filling you up.

Your fingers trace up his thighs and dig into his backside. “Fuck,” he mutters above you. You carefully graze him with your teeth, and he grunts again, making your sex throb. You shift your hips as Loki’s pace quickens, applying pressure to where you want it, crave it, need it. Loki watches you and you shutter your eyes close, trying to concentrate on the feeling blooming between your legs. “Enjoying this pet?” Loki asks, his voice heavy, and he thrusts hard against you. Suddenly, he pulls back and you groan, your hands falling from his skin.

Your eyes snap open, “What?”

He reaches to your arm and brings you to your feet. He backs you up until your back is pressed against the railing. The light from the room barely hits you, but you can see Loki’s feral look as he stares at your lips, likely plump from their work. He leans forward and pecks you hard. Then, the God of Mischief quickly spins you around so your back is to him. Your heart flutters in your chest as his hands trace down your open back. His lips delicately press just under your ear as he guides your hands to the railing.

“Next time, and I will fill that sweet mouth of yours with my seed. I’ll spend hours worshiping your body, play it like a string over and over again. But now,” he whispers wantonly as his feet push yours wider. “Now I need to be inside your dripping quim.” Unexpectedly, he rips your dress, letting it fall in tatters to the floor.

“Loki!” You push against him, trying to keep a shred of dignity and pulling the dress to your chest.

“Shh, love.” He bites your lip, pulling your arms back to the railing. “No one but me will see you like this.”

You take a breath to calm your racing heart and let the dress go. His hands dance up and down your spine. He pulls your underwear down your hips, giving you a wet kiss on the center of your back. His fingers trace your southern folds, “You’re positively dripping.” You feel him separate your folds, then a rustling sound. When you look over your shoulder you see Loki has dropped to his knees. “Just a quick taste.” His tongue, startling cold against your wet heat, drags across your lips before diving into you. You yelp at the foreign sensation, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You push against his tongue, trying to guide him to your aching clit.

“Please,” you whine, your hand slapping the railing as you hear him inhale deeply. You can feel liquid dripping down your inner thighs.

Then, just as quickly, Loki is back on his feet and a hardness is rubbing up and down your folds. “You should see yourself, pet. So wet, so willing.”

Then, without any more warning, he sheaths himself inside you in one hard thrust. You gasp suddenly, his hips pressed tightly against your ass.

“Fuck, Loki.” You groan dropping your head to the railing, pressing your forehead against the cool metal.

He snaps his hips back then forward again, not giving you time to adjust. But, if you are honest with yourself, you do not want time or gentleness. You want it hard and immediate. You move with him, bowing your back to make him go deeper.

“You feel like Valhalla,” he praises, one of his hand moves to your bra and pushes away the material to knead your breast. The other trails down your stomach and between your folds, rubbing tight circles around your clit. He bites your earlobe, and a pleasurable pain erupts as his fingers expertly play with your body. “So much more.”

His hips move harder against yours at a punishing pace. The sounds of your skin slapping together and your harsh breath decorates the air. Without warning, he hits a spot that makes your body tremble. Your legs are barely able to hold you up as his hips and fingers continue to manipulate your body.

“Loki…” You pant, “I’m going…” you trail off. His fingers pluck your nipple. His others press against your clit. His mouth, pressed against your shoulder, bites hard. Then, you come undone, feeling as though you were falling off the balcony. Your hips unabashedly move against him, riding out your climax uncaring as his own hips pace begins to falter.

He says your name, his hands moving from your body to your hands and interlace your fingers. Then, he pulls himself away and turns you around. His hands are in your hair and your lips press against each other. It’s messy. All tongue, teeth, and spit.

You don’t even care.

He hoists you into his arms and you immediately wrap your legs around him. Then he sits you on the railing. Your stomach drops as you pull away, your arms reaching for him and the metal, terrified of careening over the side of the building. Before you can even say a word, his dick snaps back into you. A powerful breath wrenches from your throat. His lips trail to your neck, worrying the skin there as his hands hold your body against his. The way he’s thrusting into you satisfies every need. It’s a grinding sensation that catches on your clit with every move. It’s explicit and wonderful. Somewhere beyond your understanding, you hear a woman panting and groaning, and a part of you realizes those wonton sounds are slipping from you. You use your legs to grind down on him, making him slide even deeper inside you. He pulls back from your neck and your eyes meet for the first time since he’s been inside you. One of your hands raises to his cheek as his jaw unhinges in desperation. His cool skin is decorated with a sheer sheen of sweat.

“You feel so good, Loki.” You tell him. His eyes widen and a small smirk dances to your lips. “I want you to fill me, claim me. I want your come dripping out of me.” His hips jut in an uneven rhythm, and you know he’s hanging on every word. “Imagine me in there, with them, fuck-” You pause. He’s once again found that hidden spot inside you, making your body shake. “Little would they know I’m marked by you. You dripping out of me. Please, Loki. I want-”

His lips cut you off again as he his hands press painfully against your back. You can feel him groaning against you, unevenly, sloppily, thrusting against you. Then you feel him, his cock pulsing with every thrust. It makes you come undone again. Your sex pulsates, milking him.

The idea that you, your words, your body, made him like this. Unrestrained, beautiful. You open your eyes to watch him, his tense look fading to one of pure satisfaction You want to stay like this forever.

Then his thrusts slow to a stop and he pulls his lips away.

His breath fans against your lips as you both try to catch your breath.

Loki gently puts you down and moves his hands to your head, petting your hair and looking you deep in the eyes. His gaze roves over your body, and for the first time you feel embarrassed. You realize that he is basically still completely dressed while you’re standing on a balcony basically naked.

“You are truly magnificent.” He says.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking for your dress. You try to pull it up your hips, only to find it’s completely ruined.  You step back out of it and pull up your underwear that was discarded. There, at least you were in a type of scandalous bathing suit, as your combined juices pool in the material. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“And all the boys,” he teases.

You pin a glare in his direction that makes him smirk. You hold out the dress to him, “Fix it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki takes a step back and pulls up his pants.

“Loki,” your voice warns. “Fix the dress. You said you’d fix it.”

“No,” Loki corrects, pulling the dress from your hands. “I said no one else would see you, I said nothing of fixing the dress.”

You scoff, “And how will no one else see me if you do not fix your dress.”

Loki purses his lips for a moment and tilts his head in consideration. “That’s hardly my problem love.” He then tosses the dress over the railings.

Your jaw drops as you watch the glittery material dance in the wind and land far away.

Your arms instantly go to your body, trying to cover yourself. “Loki, this isn’t funny.”

He continues back peddling to the glass doors and sends you a smirk before opening it and disappearing into the party. From where you are standing, you can see him make his way across the ballroom and pull a glass of wine from a silver tray.

Oh, you’re going to kill him. But how? Torture, Waterboarding, beheading. So many possibilities. 

A weird sensation pulls you from your bloody fantasies. When you look back down at yourself you find an emerald satin dress covering your body. A small smile forms on your face as your hands trace the soft fabric.

Of course, now you just have to explain the change of dress.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :)  
> Tumblr: BottledMichelle


End file.
